


After Everything

by anemptymargin



Category: A-Team (2010)
Genre: Gen, Zombies
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-10
Updated: 2013-03-20
Packaged: 2017-12-04 20:51:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 2,361
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/714962
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/anemptymargin/pseuds/anemptymargin
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After everything, what’s left? Oh, right… zombies.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Brazil Calling

**Author's Note:**

> My first actual WIP in over a decade. I will update as I can, no real promises but I’m hoping I can finish because this one feels kinda epic. There will eventually be some shippyness, definitely with slash leaning toward Face/Murdock flavored.

The airport was surprisingly quiet even given the late hour; they’d expected more post-Carnival revelers flying back to the States, but between Murdock’s singing and exhaustion they weren’t sure something was going on until they approached the ticket window to receive only an amused stare.

“I still got feathers, don’t I?” Murdock giggled, rubbing a hand over his glitter stained face self-consciously; “Face, are there feathers on me?”

“Couple on your ass…” Face groaned, rolling his eyes to the attendant. “We’re uh, flying into Los Angeles… name’s Contreras…”

Hannibal shook his head and gestured for them to go back to where BA was slumped over on a bench. “Make sure he’s still breathing, okay?”

The look was enough to raise Face’s suspicion, but he followed Murdock over without protest – watching the colonel as he talked to the attendant just out of earshot. It didn’t look good.

“Flight delayed, boss?” Murdock asked, eyebrows raised when he approached with a scowl.

“I don’t think there is a flight,” Face answered before the boss could.

“Nothing to LA.”

“What about Burbank or San Diego?” Face asked, assuming there was a lockdown at LAX.

Hannibal shook his head, swallowing hard. “Something’s wrong. Something big.”

“What… what is it?” Murdock asked, shifting closer with a serious look despite the layers of glittery purple and blue paint on his face.

“There’s a quarantine.”

“Quarantine?” Face’s brow wrinkled and he shook his head; “What about Phoenix?”

“Not just California.” There was a moment of horrible silence as he grasped for the words that didn’t yet make any sense to him. Then Hannibal said; “It’s everywhere. No flights in or out of North America.”

“No flights? What? Face, go talk some jazz on ‘em…”

“They said a private plane took off this morning and was shot down by an apache over Miami and nobody’s telling them anything else.”

“That’s… no, no… that doesn’t make any sense.” Face pushed up off the bench, both hands balled in the pockets of his slacks. “We’ve only been out of the country two weeks…”

“Well apparently Brazil’s the only place celebrating right now because they’re not booking flights anywhere.” Hannibal noded toward BA; “Let’s get him out of here before he wakes up.”

“So what, we’re just leaving?”

“We need to find out what’s going on back at home… make some calls.”

Murdock piped up; “You think it’s an attack, boss?”

“Could be chemicals… they don’t quarantine for nukes.” Face added, “But, I mean… that’s crazy, even…”

“We’re going to make some calls.” Hannibal said sternly, ceasing discussion as Face and Murdock managed the large man between them into the back seat of a cab – exchanging worried glances that were far more concerned about Hannibal’s reaction than their appointed rendezvous with a friend of BA’s in Los Angeles.

“Morto…” Hannibal mused under his breath in the front passenger seat, earning a frightened look from the driver. Catching the man’s eyes he asked; “How much to Panama?”

The driver shook his head offering a dumb smile that only drew a tempered frown; “We need to get to Panama.”

“No…” he replied, shaking his head again.

Hannibal squared his jaw and glanced to his boys shoved close in the back before sliding one hand under his jacket to touch the handle of his pistol and then swallowed again – pushing back his gut instinct to make a quick run toward home. “The nearest hotel, then.”

Ten minutes later, they were tucked into a tiny motel room with BA snoring quietly on the single bed. Murdock paced the length of the room, listening carefully as Face and Hannibal tried their contacts one by one.

“I’ve got nothing,” Hannibal replied quietly, “nobody’s answering and some of the lines are disconnected.”

Face’s gut sank, the fear showing at the edges of his composed stare. “Down to one.”

“It may be our only chance…”

“I know that, but the feds are all over her – Hannibal, I’m not going to make the call unless you think it’s our only option.” Face tapped his phone against the table that sat between them, after six months on the run he hadn’t even heard from her once – no progress, no ‘Face, you lying sack of shit where the hell are you?’, nothing. But if it was as bad as every instinct was telling him…

“I think the feds are the least of our problems right now. I tried a line directly into Pendleton and nobody answered.”

“Pendleton?” Murdock asked, crouching down on the floor with his back against the wall. “This is real bad, boss… I got a feeling there’s big bad trouble goin’ down there…”

“You say the word and I’ll dial.”

“Do it.” Hannibal nodded, watching as Murdock tilted his head back against the dingy wall and let out a nervous hum. “We’re going home. One way or another.”

The room was silent when he pushed the call button, holding his breath as the line rang. Once. Twice.

“It’s ringing, that’s good, right?” Murdock asked timidly.

Hannibal held up a silencing hand.

Three times. 

“Come on, come on…” Face whispered, biting into his lower lip.

The fourth buzz clicked and he was ready to end the call when a whisper picked up; “Jesus Christ, I don’t know if I should kill you or thank god you’re alive. Of course you’re alive… please tell me you’re alive.”

“Are you secure?” He asked without even considering her words.

“Very funny, asshole.” She shot back in a hissing whisper and he opened both eyes wide, offering Hannibal a half-shrug.

“No, not funny… we’re just… what’s going on? You’re whispering.”

“Yeah, I just hope the dead hate Steely Dan as much as I do.”

His brow creased, and Face asked; “What do you mean?”

“What do you think I mean? We’ve been pinned down at Davis-Monthan for three days by the damn things…” She stopped for a second and all he could hear was her ragged breathing and a hollow moan followed by three distinct gunshots.

“Charissa!” He shouted, pushing up from the table hard enough to knock over his chair.

“Damnit…” she muttered, barely audible over the line. “We’re down to ten… and almost out of ammo. Please tell me you guys are doing better than I am.”

“No… we… we’re…” He started only to have Hannibal’s hand firm against his arm. “We’re fine. What’s going on there?”

“Oh, you know… the usual zombie fucking apocalypse. Christ, I’m hanging up if you just called to play stupid.”

“Zombie apocalypse?” He laughed, his head shooting up when Murdock giggled nervously and then moaned; “Oh man… oh man…”

“Yeah, you know those dead things everywhere? I don’t know what else to call them. Where are you guys?”

“Dead… things?” He muttered, looking back to Hannibal who only sat back with a blank stare.

There was another long silence and for a second he was sure the call dropped before she whispered; “You really don’t know what’s going on? What kind of cave are you in?”

“Brazil, actually… what are you… are you serious? Zombies? Like the whole Dawn of the Dead thing?”

“Morto…” Hannibal muttered under his breath, eliciting another nervous whine from the pilot.

“I told you it had to be bad…” Murdock sighed, “Dead things. Walking around… that’s a war there, I seen all the movies when I was in the hospital…”

“Zombies aren’t real.” Face said more to his team than the phone.

Sosa replied; “Then you get your ass up here and tell me what the hell’s going on because six days ago people started coming back… three days ago the commander in chief went missing and now we’ve lost pretty much the whole damn grid.”

“I… I can’t… this isn’t…”

“Shit. My battery’s dying. We’re moving out in twenty-four hours, Face. If you make it, we’re in the medical center. If not… I guess… well…”

“Don’t say it, we’ll be there.” He replied confidently, “We’ll be there.”

“We’ll see.”


	2. Serious Shit

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> En route, the team learns more about the situation.

“Our primary objective is to rendezvous with Lieutenant Sosa and any surviving members of her team.” Hannibal laid out a man on the table they’d gathered around with a flightline marked across it. “Secondary goal is to gather intel on the supposed ‘zombie’ situation.”

“I don’t know man, zombies?” BA huffed, shaking his head; “This has got to be some kind of trick.”

“You didn’t hear her, all right? I’m sorry, but I believe what she said… she was terrified.” Face shot him a nasty look, unsurprised when Murdock muttered quiet agreement.

“All I’m sayin’ is your girlfriend may not be a reliable source of information given she’s department of…”

Hannibal cut off the squabble; “Regardless of the source, the facts of the matter are that all communications and travel into and out of North America have been cut off – international word is a quarantine, but nobody knows why. Official record is that we died in a plane crash two months ago in the Everglades – if they’re using it as a ploy to call us out in the open there’s clearly a much larger matter at stake.” He glanced over to where Murdock spun the rotor on a toy helicopter between his fingers. “Murdock, you said you’ve been out to Davis Monthan before?”

“Yessir,” he responded quickly; “Knew some airmen stationed out there about fifteen years ago.”

“Think you could find it from the air?”

“Sure as a bunny farts in the woods, Boss.”

“I aint getting on no plane…” BA protested; “Not even a kite with this fool at the controls.”

“Then you’re deserting your unit, Sergeant. We’ve got twenty-four hours before she moves and I intend to be there.”

“We’ll knock you out first,” Face offered. “But I can’t guarantee you’ll be out for the landing.”

“We’re going in hot. We’ll need you on your feet running.” Hannibal crossed his arms over his chest. “I wouldn’t ask you if I felt all right leaving a man behind, but this operation is settled with or without your cooperation.”

One hour later, BA was strapped into a passenger seat of Osprey headed Northwest toward Arizona.

“Ladies and gentlemen, your captain has turned off the fasten seatbelts sign – you are now free to move about the cabin.” Murdock muttered as the aircraft reached just over 10,000 feet, still adjusting to the slightly different feel of the controls. He’d flown a tiltrotor before, but it had been years. This one in particular had been repurposed by the Red Cross with boxes upon boxes of non-perishables and drums of potable water as cargo.

Not long into the flight, Face finally got the nerve to ask; “So, uh… what are you thinking about this whole ‘zombie’ thing?”

Hannibal tilted his head, shafting in his seat to look up at the younger man. “I think there’s something big enough that every border is closed and the country’s in a state of panic bad enough for humanitarian aid from Brazil.”

“Like a zombie apocalypse.” Face replied with a humorless laugh.

A long silence drew between them as they watched the landscape pass. Murdock was flying with a vague bearing at best, but as clear as the airspace was he wasn’t too worried about missing anything. “Boss, the voices aint never this quiet.” He stated simply, tapping his headpiece; “Aint nobody returning calls.”

Not just calls, for all appearances the radio was silent across all channels.

Nine hours into the flight, BA woke up stiff and panicked – pressing himself into the seat with his eyes wide. “We getting’ close, Colonel?” he shouted, coming around slowly as the drug wore off.

“About halfway over Mexico,” Hannibal replied calmly.

“No time to stop in for margaritas, amigo.” Murdock grinned despite the obvious worry they all wore.

The SATCOM lit up and Murdock was quick to open the channel; “Please identify yourself, this is quarantined airspace.”

“We hear ya loud and clear,” Murdock shot back; “Captain H.M. Murdock speaking, Sir.”

“Skip the formalities, Captain.” The voice called back; “Got worse things to worry about out here than call signs and I’m bettin’ that plane you’re in wasn’t yours this morning.”

Hannibal took the headset and butted in; “Colonel Hannibal Smith speaking, if it’s all the same I’d like to get some idea what we’re flying into.”

“Smith?” The voice at the other end laughed; “Haven’t heard your voice since the first Persian Gulf. Word was you and your boys got shot down two months ago trying to get out of Florida – no survivors.”

“From what we hear, we’re not the only dead men still walking.” Hannibal replied casually.

The other voice let out a bitter laugh; “Men. Women. Kids. Hell, we’re all dead down here, Colonel.”

“He’s a ray of sunshine.” Face muttered under his breath. 

Hannibal took a moment to let the comment settle before outright asking for the more practical information. “We’re in contact with a group stranded at Davis-Monthan Air Force Base and could use a heading if you’re able to give one.

“Sure,” the voice answered easily enough; “If she’s still alive, tell that pistol manning their radio that Colonel Jameson sends his regards.”

Murdock took the coordinates without prompting, correcting his heading minimally before the line once more went silent. “Heading adjustments made, Colonel.”

“Good, good.” Hannibal replied with a soft, distracted look toward the west.

“You know that joker?” BA asked after a long silence.

Face added, curious himself; “Didn’t exactly sound like your pay grade.”

Slowly, Hannibal shook his head. “The only Jameson I know didn’t make it home from the war.”

Silence took the team and Murdock focused himself on the horizon, occasionally checking his readouts to avoid the lingering questions that were clearly not going to get answers any time soon. BA closed his eyes and tried to tune out everything his body was telling him about panic and fear of not only flying with a nutjob at the wheel but the fact that they were apparently flying into some kinda big time crazy.

Face watched the colonel withdraw into his own thoughts and considered, not for the first time in the long flight, if they weren’t heading into some serious shit.

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: This is a work of fictional parody in no way intended to infringe upon the rights of any individual or corporate entity. Any and all characters or celebrity personae belong to their rightful owners. Absolutely no money has or will be gained from this work. Please do not publicly link, repost or redistribute without letting me know first.


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